THE VIEW
It looks sunny & crisp
a steady wind shudders
the tiniest branches
& the stray leaves
that have somehow
clung beyond their deaths
past the first snows
the freezing rains
the hard winds of November
& still they hunker down
like an idea that won’t be shed
a page that can’t be forgotten
a melody that finds some empty
corner of your brain & settles
never to be dislodged
or
perhaps
it is someone forgotten
wasting on a clean bed
in an empty room
whose only view is mine
a bare tree
& a few brown leaves